One More Shot
by Politics.and.Prose
Summary: He'd received a letter every day since beginning BCT at Fort Benning. Finchel. One Shot.


He'd received a letter every day since beginning BCT at Fort Benning. First they were pleading and heartbreaking, then they were just pleading, then they were angry. The most recent hurt the most, declaring "If you don't write me back, I really will let go, Finn Hudson". And he thought that was what he wanted; he thought he wanted her to let go of him so she could be herself, live her dream without a college-rejected loser holding her back. But it had been months. She was in school now, a few months in, and every single time she wrote that she was loving school in one sentence and that she was so mad that he wasn't there to experience it with her in another, it broke his heart a little more.

She was supposed to let go at the train station. Then again, so was he.

But he hadn't. He'd arrived at BCT sullen and angry and not at all wanting to be anywhere but in New York with Rachel. He knew he needed to do this, not only for himself but for the man he thought his father was. But would it have been so bad to stay with Rachel? Have her love to fall back on? She couldn't have followed him into the Army anyway; did he really have to "set her free"? No, he didn't. But he had and he had to live with his choice. (And, yeah, when the letters turned angry one of the first things she did was remind him that he made the decision for her and if she did ever let go like he wanted, it would be for the last time and he wouldn't be able to get her back and it was his decision to let that happen.)

He stayed at Benning for his AIT in infantry training, which really freaked his mom out. He was specializing in hand to hand combat, which would mean if fighting broke out, he would be on the front lines, just like his dad had been. He knew he ran the risk of turning out just like his old man, broken, drunk and dead on the side of the road, but this was something he _needed_ and he wished everyone would just understand it.

He was getting ready for new orders, probably at by the middle of February, and since there were few troops in the Middle East, he thought he would probably just be stationed somewhere in the US. He wasn't sure, though, and he wasn't stressing about it. He wanted out of Georgia almost as much as he wanted out Lima for eighteen years.

One of the guys from his unit brought the mail around and he had one from Lima, one from California and one from New York. He read the one from Puck first, laughing at how his best friend had moved in with Mercedes. He said she kept calling them Will and Grace, whoever they were, but Puck assured him he wasn't gay so … okay. Puck was weird when he was around Mercedes for too long anyway and this was no exception. There had been a little bit in there about how Mercedes and Sam had split and Puck was in the middle of it but he really didn't pay much attention because he had his own relationship (was it still a relationship?) to worry about.

He read the one form his mom next and he sighed, hating how resigned she still sounded. Kurt was at Ohio State and re-auditioning for NYADA, which was cool, and Burt was in DC and she was going to pack up and head to Washington soon too, as soon as she was ready to take the nursing exams. She told him she wanted to work for Walter Reed but she wasn't sure if that was all military personnel, so she hadn't applied yet.

And then he came to the one from New York and braced himself for Rachel to chew him out again. Or maybe this was the last letter, telling him she'd met someone else and now she was finally letting go of him like he wanted her to. It was bullshit, of course, but if she was finding a way to be happy without him then maybe they weren't meant to be together. Maybe he really _had_ done the right thing back at that train station. The thought hit him like a Mack truck and he was certain he would lose a part of himself and never get it back if that was true.

He didn't bother to notice the handwriting when he opened the letter but frowned at the greeting.

_Hey, Tubs_, it read, and he had to go back and check to make sure it was addressed to him and then that's what it actually said. When he'd confirmed he was the recipient and it did in fact begin like that, he allowed himself to continue reading.

_Hey, Tubs,_

_Since Rachel hasn't received any Return to Senders on her letters, I'm guessing your idiot ass is still alive and actually reading them but you're too much of a jackass to respond. Can't say it surprises me, really, because you've always been kind of a coward and afraid of confrontation. But whatever, to each his own. You can be miserable all you want but when you're making my girl miserable, we're having words. Or I'm writing them at you because the Army is like ridiculous and won't let you talk on the phone because you're too busy shooting fake people 500 yards away._

_Whatever, I just wanted to tell you that I'm setting her up on a blind date and I know she's gonna fall for this guy. Since you're too much of a dick to even write back, you don't deserve her. She may be fucking insane but she was – fucking still is – crazy about your goonie ass, but it's not healthy anymore. She's the cream of the fucking artist crop here and she won't accept a single fucking offer because of you. She won't even take the fucking ring off that you gave her. Well, guess what, Jolly Green; I'm taking it off of her, putting her in a sexy as fuck dress and sending her out with a guy who's going to make her happy._

_This is the last letter you're going to be getting from New York. Good luck finding yourself or whatever gay shit you're trying to do. I hope it was worth it._

_Santana_

_P.S. – Fuck you._

He read the letter three times, his eyes lingering on one line in particular. _She won't even take the fucking ring off that you gave her_. She was still wearing it. Despite her telling him she was going to move on, she still wore the ring. She still loved him after he hurt her so much, loved him enough to still wear her engagement ring. He'd honestly thought she had taken it off on the train, never having made mention of it in any of her letters. But now, sitting in his barracks at the end of January more than six months after he broke her heart, he found out she was still wearing his ring. It was more than enough convincing.

He jumped from his bed and ran to the wall where they kept track of leave time. He scanned it, never really worrying when his time was coming because his Sergeant would remind him a few days before. But as his eyes scanned the calendar, a grin formed on his face. He was starting leave at the end of the week and hadn't made plans to do anything. Immediately, he ran for the phone and called the airline, booking a flight into JFK. If she could hold on this long without even taking off the ring, she really did love him despite what he put her though, and he wasn't going to put either of them through the torture of separation anymore.

Three days later he was spilling his entire story to the old woman who was stuck sitting in the seat next to him. He told her about how he and Rachel were on opposite sides of the social spectrum in high school and how they had fallen in love and out and in again and then what he did and the lady listened and nodded and told him he'd done the right thing. She also seemed happy for him that he had decided to end their separation, but he really didn't pay attention to what she was saying because he'd been talking almost the whole flight and now the wheels were touching down in New York and he had to get to Rachel's apartment before Santana had a chance to set her up with someone else.

He was one of the first off the plane and running to grab his duffle bag from the luggage carousel. He grabbed a cab (after a twenty two minute wait because New York apparently sucks) and gave the address and went over his speech a million times in his head between the terminal in the Bronx and her apartment in Midtown.

He paid the cabbie and grabbed his bag, his heart racing as he considered possible outcomes. Would she even be home? Would she let him in? Would she slam the door in his face? Would she be happy to see him? Had Santana told her about the letter? He was building a career based on his ability to anticipate the moves of others but he had no idea what was waiting from him on the other side of the door the led into 8C.

He jogged up the stairs because it was nothing to him and waiting for an elevator would take up too much time. He paused outside the door and dropped his bag, wondering if he was about to make a bigger idiot of himself than he did in Lima.

He knocked on the door a steeled himself, blowing out a breath when he felt the whoosh of heat rush from the tiny apartment. He opened his eyes slowly and saw Rachel standing there, her mouth wide open and her left hand cruelly hidden by the door. She looked just as beautiful, maybe more, than when he last saw her and all he wanted to do was take her into his arms and never let her go.

"Finn?" she asked softly, her eyes slowly searching his face.

"Hey," he breathed. "Can I come in?"

She stared at him for a minute and he braced himself for the door slamming in his face, but instead he felt her small, smooth hand take his large, rough one and gently tug so he followed her into her apartment, the door shutting behind him, as he prepared to apologize for months of misery and heartache.

* * *

**AN: I don't know if this means I've finally gotten past writers block or if I can't spend the entire summer thinking Rachel and Finn are sitting in separate states upset with their break up, but it had to be written. The ending is open on purpose and I will not be closing it. This is a one shot. :)**

**Thanks for reading and please review.**


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